


Lead Me to the Death and Darkness

by Niccolò Machiavelli (Piccolo_Machiavelli)



Series: Before the Storm, After the Fire [6]
Category: 15th Century CE RPF, 16th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF, Machiavelli - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-14 22:50:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9208613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piccolo_Machiavelli/pseuds/Niccol%C3%B2%20Machiavelli
Summary: Machiavelli, to his surprise, is not imprisoned inside his own chicken coop.





	

Drip. Drip. Drip.

I open my eyes, groggily attempting to hear the source of the dripping, but I find that I am too weak to open them all the way. If I could have one wish at the moment, it would be to close my eyes and stay here in this bed until the feeling of illness passes. But what is that? Damn it, is something leaking? Everything was working fine when I went to sleep.

There’s no way I will allow myself to stay in bed the entire day. For the love of God, I am a diplomat. A Chancellor. I have an occupation, and nothing in Italy is going to be accomplished without my assistance. Heaven knows no other government can reunite this country.

I finally force my eyes open, and what sight meets me is not the one I last remember. The walls around me are constructed of murky grey stones and the floor below me has a pile of hay heaped in a corner. That hay has become my resting place. Hay? I fell asleep while I was visiting the farmlands? In the chicken coop? Perhaps I’ve worked myself entirely too hard, for I am currently shut in a chicken’s cage. These bars hold me captive inside. Who would do this to me? Certainly they noticed I was above the average size for a chicken and the wrong gender to be laying any eggs. 

“Get up, traitor! You’ve slept long enough,” a deep voice growls at me. I look to my right and find an enormous, bulky man standing outside my cage. I highly doubt he’s talking to a chicken.

“Traitor?” I inquire, scoffing at his ignorance. “You come to my house, imprison me in a chicken coop, and call me a traitor? Do you have any idea to whom you are speaking?”

“Chicken coop? Ha! You really don’t remember,” he laughs, rattling the bars. “You’re in no chicken coop. You’re in Le Stinche. You turned yourself in to… prove your innocence, but we already have proof of your guilt. It was, of course, justified, since you’re part of a conspiracy to throw them out of power, but it’s nice to see an arrogant bastard like you being put in their place.”

“No!” I object, furiously flinging myself at the bars, desperate for escape. It would, however, explain my confusion and my massive headache. The prison? Why would the Medici do this to me? “I have absolutely nothing to do with this supposed ‘conspiracy’ of yours! I have the same routine every single day, you know that! How could you do this to me?”

“You brought this upon yourself. You fooled no one! Everyone could see your goal was to assassinate the Medici and take part in establishing a republican government. Now, you’re where all other traitors belong: inside a prison. If you’re lucky, you’ll end up rotting away here when you’re old and grey. If not, you’ll be put to death in the most painful but deserved of ways. Whatever the case is, they know you’re responsible for this. You were the man behind the plot, and they’ve finally foiled your scheme,” the jailor argues, tapping his foot on the stone floor. It echoes loudly and I cringe, imagining the sound of my body hitting that same spot.

I clench my fists. “I’m not responsible for anything, and no, I do not plan and scheme my days away to devote my time to plan assassinations. Frankly, assassination is all too common here, and someone ought to write a book about it since every ruler seems to fall into the same trap. The Medici can try all they want to find someone to blame, but they won’t find anything from me. Look, just let me speak to them now, in my humbled state, and I can prove my innocence.” I pull myself up from the floor and stare out, frightened at what this man proposes. I’ve done nothing, that’s the worst part. There’s no use in insisting they have the wrong man. The Medici will believe whatever they wish, and I cannot control that. But why is it that this guard seems to smile when he speaks of death and pain? What has he planned for me here?

“Right. As if you’ll be so tenacious while you’re on the rope,” the guard smirks, looking towards a hallway that stretches down past my view. 

“On the rope?” I ask hesitantly. What in the name of God is he talking about? 

As if to answer my question, he turns his head in the direction of a sudden loud cacophony. Thunderous footsteps sound near the hallway he was gazing at not long ago and approach a door. I hear them knock and assume that I am locked up in a separate room. Inside a cage as well? My, the Medici are bloody scared of me. I should take that as a compliment. 

“Come in; a weakling like this won’t put up a fight,” the jailor invites the guards at the door inside.

“I beg your pardon?” I challenge, caught off guard slightly. I can hear my heart pounding. By God, this isn’t me, I am Niccolò di Bernardo dei Machiavelli, and I’ll be damned if I’ll be submitting to some lout calling me a weakling and-

The guards barge in and rattle the bars on my cell menacingly. “This the one? My, what an odd-looking fellow he is. He even has a crooked nose,” jeers one of the guards as he pulls out chains and keys on a ring. They always have to mention my nose! I can’t control that and I have yet to meet a person that I haven’t heard speak about it... The guard holding the chains unlocks the door to my cell and yanks it open. It would do me no use to run or cower in the back of my cell. I am not some weakling, and I will not be caught hiding in a corner on my dying breath. 

I wince when the guard throws me to the floor and fastens the chains around my wrists. I hit the ground hard, gasping for breath and wrenching myself out of his grip. A boot on my back keeps me on the bottom of the cell.

“Your efforts are in vain, old man,” sneers the guard, hoisting me up by the chain. The cuffs dig deep into my wrists, cutting off the feeling in my fingers and sending tingles through my hands.  
I’m not that old. First, they thought I was ugly, and now they think I’m-

“Let’s go! Come on!” the guard yanks me forward as if I am a dog on a chain. “I don’t have all night, and if you're lucky, you won’t either.” He laughs and pulls me out of the cell. “Huh, it’s almost like you're my pet. I like this.”

“I am not your pet,” I scowl bitterly. “If this were different, I would send the entire militia after you! You’d be dead before you could recite my name! You got the drop on me this time, but you won’t the next.” Reluctantly, I walk forward, knowing that I may as well be walking to my doom at the gallows. These men have control over me in every way. They can do with me as they wish. This thought infuriates and frightens the hell out of me. 

“I am part of the militia. At least, I was. I’ve changed allegiance. You commanded me at one point. Never liked you, to be honest. Found you too harsh, too unforgiving. You were headstrong and you relished in the power you had. I envied it the entire time. All I wanted was to be in control. And now, the tables have finally turned,” the guard boasts. “Now I can command you. And you serve me. You get to live or die only if I say so, and I’ll be damned if I am not allowed to enjoy this while it lasts.”

Naturally, a scathing reply comes into my head, but I decide to let this go. It would not be wise to try him. He is immune to any amount of flattery or charm I can muster; and since it has already been established that I am both ugly and old, it would fall flat. He was one of my soldiers once and he still deserves the respect I once paid him. Even if he decided to take part and pleasure in my arrest.

“Prepare the rope!” he hollers down the hallway, giving my chains another yank. “They’re waiting for you. I’ve told them you’re coming.”

What the hell is he talking about? “What rope? Who? What the hell are you-” I utter.

“Will you be quiet?” he hisses, stopping me forcefully in the corridor. “You speak only when spoken to!” He laughs ruefully and pats my shoulder. I always found fake affection disturbing, especially from one of my previous minutemen. More guards fall in line with him. “Just making sure you don’t run.”

“Technically, you did speak to me. You reminded me that ‘they’re waiting’, remember? Or has it already passed through the depths of your thick skull and-”

His playful petting turns into a hard slap. I cough, reeling from the blow. “Cazzo!” I curse. “Bastardi, the lot of you. This is no way to treat your former leader!” The men behind me erupt into hysterical laughter. I’ve never been humiliated and shamed like this before, caused to feel burning and torment from those once serving me. Have they planned this all along? Was this part of their reason for my capture?

“That’s not how you address me, Niccolò,” he whispers in my ear, tapping his fingers eerily close to my neck. I recoil and shudder, horrified. I would much rather be insulted and embarrassed publicly than to be touched or fondled. 

“Don’t fondle me. That’s my wife’s job,” I respond, biting my lip. It hurts, but it keeps in the smirk that would normally be spreading across my face. The attempt fails and I start giggling uncontrollably. In a desperate attempt to show my masculinity, I sound like a lightweight who had one drink too many. 

“Boys, I think it’s time this man here be taught some respect. He hasn’t quite learned that he’s under my thumb just yet,” he announces, not responding to my comment. How foolish I must be to hold in a reply only to let one more severe escape. “It’s your wife’s job, eh? Maybe I should ask her about it. Perhaps your children, too?” 

A feeling of sheer panic rushes through me. “Don’t you dare touch my family! They had no part in whatever scheme you’re accusing me of! I would die to protect them, you know that!” I cry, tears brimming in my eyes. 

The guard stops me again, smiling mysteriously. “Well, I’ve got you where I want you,” he says at last, stopping at a tall door and pulling it open to throw me inside.


End file.
